


In Happiness or In Trials

by across_galaxies



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged Up, F/M, Married Life, angst with okay ending, fights between married couples
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 02:26:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13824534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/across_galaxies/pseuds/across_galaxies
Summary: They had an unspoken rule, a truce of sorts, that they abide by when things get like this.The world had no right to know their business.-Chloe should have known better. Because she has seen this before.-It's impossible to work through a problem if half of the issue won't speak.He can't patch things together without the materials. He's a needle with no thread.//posted on tumblr and ff.net. part of the Chlonath discord server's Bee My Valentine exchange.





	In Happiness or In Trials

They had an unspoken rule, a truce of sorts, that they abide by when things get like this.

The world had no right to know their business.

It didn't matter how big the fight was, or what it was about. When it came time for them to make an appearance, together, they feigned happiness. Hollow smiles, wooden hands holding onto each other, empty words and quieted personalities. Anyone who paid attention would know that something was wrong, but they were in a world where people cared more about themselves and the newest gossip than to pick up on the subtleties that Chloe and Nathanael had mastered over the years.

They didn't fight often.

Chloe hadf long learned the art of compromise and Nathanael was a gentle soul that gave more than he took, but it only seemed to make the real fights that happened, the ones that truces were made for, more volatile and explosive. He was not known for raising his voice, but there have been more than a few times Chloe had pushed him into yelling. She is known more for anger than sadness, but fights caused her to shut down. Uncooperative, unresponsive, utterly frustrating for him. It's impossible to work through a problem if half of the issue won't speak.

Someone's anniversary. They brought a gift, but Chloe couldn’t even remember who they're supposed to be celebrating. There are too many people, milling around and talking, a constant buzz of conversation that doesn't cease; flutes of champagne and wine that she doesn't dare drink. Next to her, Nathanael also stays dry. Another unspoken truce. After their first couple fights, they found alcohol only escalated their fights. Her hands shoving him, his fingers snaring her wrists, shadows of bruises on both of them.

Chloe should have known better. She should have known better for all of this. Her broken record, “You should have known,” played, over and over, skipping, scratched and worn from use. It echoed in her mind as she smiled at the people walking past her. 

Because she has seen this before. Repressed memories that breach every time they fight, the echoing of the yelling down the halls of the hotel, the shattering of vases that her mother threw at the wall. Bare feet walking into glass; Chloe, numb, looking at the warm, wet blood between her toes, painting the tile. The pain didn’t register until Jean Jean picked her up and was already coddling her. Big, hot tears rolling down her cheeks as she wailed a harmony to the song her parents were screaming.

She remembered the way that her mother looked at her blood in disgust and the way her father rushed to her, kissing her head as Jean Jean cleaned her feet.

Every word, every fight between her and Nathanael tasted how the glass felt beneath her feet. Angry words that scratched up her throat and cut her tongue, tasted like red poison in her mouth. She felt like she was drowning in the blood, silencing her, thick and sticky, stuck in the back of her throat. His voice like nails scratching her ears.

Chloe smiled at another person who stopped to say hello. Her fingers tightened around his arm and she straightened, trying to seem bigger than she felt when the couple began talking to them. Small talk, dead words, pretending to care. It was easier when Nathanael was present with her. He may be standing next to her, but she could tell that he wasn't _with_ her. They usually gave each other subtle looks and made tongue-in-cheek comments under their breaths, his fingers sliding down her side, caressing her waist, her hip bumping him to keep him in place when his words edged on the line of distasteful.

He stood away from her, close enough that her hand was wrapped around his forearm, but he wasn't _beside_ her--touching her from shoulder to hip, an ever-present identity she relied on and loved.

Emotionless goodbyes; she still couldn't place whose anniversary they were celebrating. Nathanael usually opened the car door for her, mocking playful as people watched from the window.

"They are so in love; why doesn't _my_ husband treat me like that?"

"I bet he cheats on her."

"Chloe was never one to be faithful."

Despite the words whispered behind their backs, they would smile and laugh at each other.

She watched as he walked to his side of the car. Throat closing in on her, she opened her car door and sat down.

Silence never scared Chloe.

Chloe was not afraid of much in life.

The quietness of a room, the intimacy of _stillness_ between her and her partner, she welcomed it, felt safe in the heavy blanket of no expectations of conversations, the lack of judgment, the state of just _being_ with Nathanael.

There were no words exchanged on the ride home. The radio played softly in the background. The steady hum of the car rattled inside of her, vibrations down to her bones.

Chloe was unafraid of silence, but this was something worse.

* * *

 

Nathanael loved Chloe.

He loved her more than he could put into words. So he put it into art. Everything he created was influenced and inspired by her; pieces of her personality he could physically manifest onto a canvas, into a sketch. The cheeky way she would say something, the way her hair fell down her back when she took it out of her ponytail.

He loved her even as she did things he didn't understand.

Fighting was natural. It was _normal_ for people to argue with their spouse or to disagree with them and, he admitted, it didn't seem like they disagreed on much, usually. He couldn't even remember what it was about tonight. Something stupid.

It always was.

Something stupid, yet it mattered because they don't yell at each other over _nothing_.

His parents had taught him that arguments kept things running smoothing between partners. It was a medium of discussion, that got out steam and relieved tensions.

But it's impossible to argue with someone who won't say a word.

Oh, Chloe has plenty to say at the beginning of the argument. Her words slice in front of his; she's still _herself_. Angry and loud, brash with harsh words and names he knows she doesn't mean, but in the moment it frustrates him and gets him worked up.

He has never been able to pinpoint the moment that it changes for her.

If he could, then maybe he would know her trigger.

He could find out what she hides in her past that pulls her away from him.

But sometime after the first hour, she falls apart. She no longer responds to him, cannot meet his eyes. The argument unresolved; Chloe no longer cooperating with him to fix the issue.

He can't patch things together without the materials. He's a needle with no thread.

She walked into the house before him, leaving the door open behind her and he trailed, quiet, watching her.

These nights resulted in him sleeping in the guest room. Once, he heard, that the way to a happy marriage is to never go to bed angry or upset and to always sleep in the same bed. It didn't matter if that meant no sleep. It was a sacrifice that had to be made. That would never work for them. A night's sleep usually brought Chloe from her reverie and would open her up to speaking again.

It was an awkward dance until they went to bed. All of his things were in their bedroom and their bathroom, so they would undress the day together, brushing their teeth in silence, standing next to each other, in the mirror with each other. He watched, waiting, ever holding out for her, as she washed her face clean from makeup. Then they moved to the bedroom.

It's like they didn't know each other anymore.

They turned their backs to each other as they dress. He heard her struggle with the zipper on the back of her dress, but she didn't ask for help. There was once a time she had to do it herself and she may need time to remember, but eventually she would.

Forty minutes and there were still no words between them.

They stared at each other from across the room, waiting, like a standoff, for the other to make a move. But Nathanael was already reaching for her. He, emotionally, could not reach out to her anymore. He would do anything for Chloe; he _loved_ Chloe, but there are things he was not capable of doing.

He was _exhausted_. On any normal day dealing with a party full of people from a social class he had yet to come to understand was tiring and he would take comfort in the laughter and words of his wife. He would savor her kisses and her soft words and her wandering fingers, but this was not a normal night.

So he turned to leave the room.

"Don't..."

Nathanael paused and waited. Her voice cracked, was soft, barely audible. Maybe it was because he hungered for some sort of reaction from her. He was naturally attuned to catch her voice. He turned and looked at her.

She was so _small_.

Before they got married, Nathanael would have never used the word "small" to describe Chloe. She was larger than life, with a big personality and a loud voice, always taking up the entire room. But she was _small_ when she was like this. Like a child. Fragile and soft, _breakable_.

"Please don't," she tried again, her voice faltering and she fell quiet for a moment. "Please... just... stay tonight."

He walked towards her, slowly, like he was approaching a skittish animal.

She almost was.

She got into bed first, sliding all the way over onto her side of the bed. Usually, she crowded the middle and complained about how it was cold if she wasn't against him. But when he got in behind her, she didn't move closer. She didn't look at him, either. Stubbornly facing away from him, but tense.

He couldn't just keep reaching for her; this was what he told himself. Yet he looked at the back of her head, of the way she was curling in on herself, and he hesitated.

You're not supposed to go to bed angry.

His ring felt heavy on his finger and his thumb twirled it a little. With the ring came so many compromises and vows, more than he really knew what he was signing up for when he married her.

But it was a symbol of his love for her.

So once more, he would try.

"Chloe," he said softly, reaching out to her, arm sliding over to curve around her waist. "You know I still love you, right?" Her body stiffened under his arm and he felt worry and alarm in his heart. "Chloe, I love you." He wasn't prepared for the _tremble_ that her body gave and the soft sob that escaped her lips.

His arm pulled her against his body and he kissed along the back of her neck. "Oh, Chloe," he whispered. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm sorry," she said emotionally, her voice strained. "I'm _sorry_. I know I'm not a good wife and I shut down and I'm sorry. Please don't leave me. I love you so much."

Nathanael tightened his arm around her waist, making her fall silent. "You're not a _bad wife_ ," he said, slight disbelief in his voice. "I _love_ you, Chloe. You're my _wife_. I would never _leave you_ because of a fight."

She was silent. Then, softer, quieter, more fragile, "I'm sorry."

This would be all he got tonight, he could tell, but it was a _start_. It was a breakthrough, all considering. His arm kept her snug against his front and he breathed in the gentle scent of her hair, nuzzling her.

"Dans le bonheur ou dans les épreuves," he murmured into the curve of her neck.

_ In happiness or in trial. _

He had promised in their vows.

**Author's Note:**

> every universe i write with Chloe, she honestly needs to go to therapy. that's basically the only consistent headcanon I have for her.


End file.
